Memory, Sentiment, and Everything InBetween
by Alhazardous
Summary: They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, and thirty years is certainly long enough for this cast of misfits to sort through their feelings for their  missing  fearless leader. Warnings and so forth inside.
1. Isaac, Admiration

**Memory, Sentiment, and Everything In-Between**

_Just a little clarification of concept. A number of character studies, based on how a group so intricately connected might feel about the loss of the thread that holds them together. Some characters will have multiple presentations (platonic and romantic love, friendship, hate, possibly even indifference); may be a fair bit of slash and the like, but nothing particularly explicit. Thanks for reading this little introduction, and enjoy._

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* * *

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Isaac (Platonic)

Has it really been thirty years?

Sometimes, it feels like so much less. I wake up in the morning, and I smell someone frying eggs somewhere, and without warning I'm back, thirty years in the past. I'm tired and moody (as Jenna would so nicely put it), listening to the sizzling, popping and spitting of breakfast being cooked over an open fire. I can smell it, drifting in on a light summer breeze, hear the roar of the ocean towards the coast and the hum of a woman's voice as she quietly sings to herself, and I can lose myself in the memory of a time when I was young, careless and free. Then Jenna will walk in, but she'll be 30 years older, only a few wrinkles on her still-beautiful face, and the memory shatters, leaving me almost thankful and almost bitter at the loss all at once.

She'll walk over to me, eyes glittering with mirth even in her middle age (or what would be her middle age, were we not all trapped in our youthful forms) and set down a tray beside my head. Then she'll lean over to kiss me, just once on the lips, tender and caring as always, before she stands up, nods a little, and walks out, hips sashaying with as much grace as she's ever had. The routine plays out the same way whenever we're together; she knows what I'm thinking, and I know what she's thinking, and the fog of nostalgia and sorrow that shrouds us both thickens, choking and dense and threatening to engulf us both.

Then, I'll hear a voice that never fails to remind me why I keep moving forward, what it is that motivates me to press on the way I do. It'll say something like "Wake up, Dad," or "Time to eat, Dad," and it all becomes worthwhile, the routine, the sometimes-overpowering monotony of it all. For Matthew; for my son. After all, I owe him the same opportunities my parents gave me, and I love him, in ways that I never believed I would love anyone thirty years ago.

Occasionally, I'll talk to Matthew about our lives, all those years ago. I'll tell him about how we all fought alongside each other, foes turned friends, all to save Weyard. The reminiscence is good for me, as it helps to keep my memory sharp, and it's good for Matthew, too, who sits next to me on my bed in our house in Kalay, enraptured by the stories of his extended family who united against all odds to save the world.

Our house is beautiful, built from solid stone and detailed with the most intricate carvings of the highlights of our journey on the walls, so the basic reference materials are there when I need them; anything else that I forget, or don't know, I make up or defer to Jenna. She seems to delight in reliving our younger years (some say our glory days, though they're young, and don't understand the real glory is in raising our children), coming alive the way she used to as she jumps around animatedly, waving her spatula like a sword while she narrates anything from an uneventful trip through the mountains filled with log-pushing and storm-summoning to a particularly fierce battle between our group and a band of roaming bandits, or monsters, or whatever it is she's remembered. That reminds me of breakfast, somehow, though the link is tenuous at best, but it never fails to make my stomach grumble, and Matthew, regardless of his age, whether five, ten, fifteen or older, giggles childishly while Jenna chides me about not eating. The giggle is always enough to distract her into fawning over her little baby boy, who complains about not being a baby anymore despite enjoying the attention, as always, leaving me to enjoy a good meal. I bite into it, and without fail, one word comes to mind.

"Felix."

I say it unthinkingly, and immediately regret it. The room falls into quiet, but the sound cuts through the air like a knife, pierces the haze of our little family life and fills it with an unwanted but refreshing clarity. Jenna, caught up in her ministrations over Matthew's uncontrollable hair, squealing over her delicately beautiful son, stops and blanches, a look of slowly rising rage forming on her face. Matthew looks down at the floor, crosses his legs awkwardly, and sighs, waiting for his mother to toss a meaningful glare at me before she grabs his arm and storms out. She does, eventually, and I'm left alone with my thoughts once more, though the pain of Matthew choosing his mother over me every time never quite eases. I relax in the knowledge that, as always, he'll come back later and apologize, but it will only ever be half-hearted; he's come to agree with his mother about this, dislikes the way I bring up the name every time. He's more used to bottling up his feelings about his missing uncle and keeping them locked inside. For that I'm grateful; even if he's the spitting image of me, he's far more like his mother's side of the family in temperament – caring, loving, forgiving. It helps that his volatility is suppressed by his eerily familiar stoicism; he's far more like Felix than he could ever possibly know.

That path of thought always leads back to the beginning, though, and it always makes me wonder why Jenna doesn't just learn new ways to cook, so we can avoid all the unpleasant feelings. I may well know it's selfish, but it seems easier simply to change than to forget – or at least, it would be, were it not for the fact that everything she does seems to be influenced by her love for this missing big brother of hers, right down to the way she fries eggs. How she makes something so basic seem so personal, I'll never know, and try as I might to be frustrated by it, I cannot; long ago I came to the realization that his spectre would always hang over us, like a pall. It doesn't bother me anymore, or at least, not as much as it used to, when we would fight over it, have massive arguments about how he was ruining our life without even being there to do so, or to help us resolve it.

In a sense, I'm grateful for that, because, try as I might, I can't deny that I want my big brother back just as much as she does.

* * *

At Jupiter Lighthouse, I told him I trusted him, and in retrospect, laying my cards out on the table like that during the first hand might have been the most stupid mistake I've ever made. He had just nodded at me, smiled one of those small smiles that I'd desperately longed for from when we were younger, before all the quests and duties had been thrown on my shoulders, and pocketed the Mars Star. It had filled me with confidence, for the first time since my journey had begun, and I had known, without a doubt, that things would turn out alright. There was no other possibility.

The others had disagreed, and we had rushed to the lighthouse's aerie, only to find an amused Felix holding his own against a flagging pair of Proxians, each of whom were growing more irritated by the second. Briefly I had wondered when Felix had become so skilled, so strong, so secure in his own abilities that he was able to take on Karst and Agatio at once and dominate the fight while Ivan and I had been so thoroughly defeated, but it had only been moments before I realized that this was Felix I was talking about; soft-spoken, kind, level-headed Felix, who was never caught off-guard, never outsmarted, never beaten at anything. Somehow, he had survived so much pain, suffering, and loss, and still come out on top; why would this be any different?

As soon as Karst and Agatio retreated (just after Piers rejoined the fight, when it was clear that they'd been outclassed), I had confronted him. At the time, it had seemed the most prudent course of action, the sort of thing a leader like Felix would do, so I'd been shocked when he collapsed into Piers' arms, and very nearly terrified – what would I do if Felix had been hurt? How would I face Jenna, the girl I wanted to be with for the rest of my life, if it was because of me that her brother had died for a third time? Piers seemed to have the situation well in hand, though, as he cured Felix's fatigue quickly, smiling warmly at the Venus Adept as he helped him to his feet.

I approached them quickly, and though I wanted to speak at length, I knew it was pointless. They intended to light the lighthouse, and we were in no condition to stop them; a battle, as all three girls agreed, would be needlessly dangerous. I had my own doubts; did I want to fight Felix? Did I think we could beat him? Garet certainly agreed. Felix had always been the best with a sword, and we were so drained that a swordfight would be the only option. I was sure that we would stand no chance. What seemed more important, though, was that I would be taking up arms against Felix, of all people. We'd come this far to stop him, that I knew, but to fight him? None of us had even considered it, especially not after his sacrifice at the peak of Venus Lighthouse. We'd always assumed he would just give up; now, he and his group were ready to challenge all our assumptions, maybe even overturn them, and I didn't want any more bloodshed between us. By that point, I was firmly convinced I'd seen enough carnage to last me ten lifetimes.

Felix looked at me, practically looked through me, and then he spoke, and I knew that I was done. That silver tongue of his, all the honeyed words and persuasive expressions had always suckered me in before, just like everyone else, and we found ourselves mutely agreeing to a meeting in Contigo. It wasn't perfect, nothing short of a proper end to our quest would be, but it seemed like a good enough start, and I was eager to take it.

When Felix began to explain, after we'd all reunited in Contigo once more, my group and I were completely dumbstruck. He'd taken it upon himself to play the villain, Kraden said, while Felix guiltily looked away as if he, the hero, who had persevered against all odds, was somehow in the wrong. He'd helped innumerable people, saved countless lives along the way, full of grim determination and faith in himself all the time, carrying the crushing burden of being 'the enemy', and none of it had slowed him down, let alone stopped him. Even when Saturos and Menardi had fallen, or Alex had abandoned them, they'd carried on; Felix had carried on, trying to save the world. Nothing, not even the Wise One, had stood in his way.

I couldn't contain myself then, not after being forced to examine all my own failures and foolish preconceptions (Why was the Wise One in the right? What made him right? Was it because the elders of Vale said so), so I excused myself and stepped outside to catch my breath and collect my few remaining thoughts. Had I been the villain all along, unwittingly condemning the world to death? Was I doing the right thing after all? There was no right answer. If I decided Felix and Kraden were both lying, trying to delude me in some mad bid for power (Felix, who had defeated gods and demons alike, found Lemuria, seen the edge of the world, become a witch doctor, for Alchemy's sake! Didn't he have enough power already?), stopping them could destroy the world; just observing the effects of the three lighthouses on Weyard, how they imbalanced the world so much, was enough to prove we couldn't leave things unfinished, and none of us knew how to extinguish the other beacons that had already been lit. We didn't even know if it was possible, and certainly not whether it was possible for us, at our level of knowledge and power.

On the other hand, if we went along with Felix, we'd be turning on the Wise One, and unleashing Alchemy on an unprepared, unsuspecting world. War, strife, suffering, more, all virtually guaranteed. Was it worth it? The possibility of a quick death for Weyard, or the certainty of a slow one?

Silently Jenna had come outside to join me, hoping to comfort me and soothe her own doubts, claiming that everyone was resting, trying to make sense of what they'd learned. Felix was the only other person fully awake and aware, pondering what he should be doing – always so damn compassionate, so wise, so condescending! – and she had been worried about me. She knew I was unsure, and though time has stolen her exact wording from me, I can clearly remember the gist of what she told me, and how much it allayed my fears.

"I trust Felix," she'd mumbled, but her downcast eyes spoke volumes of the extent of love and belief she held towards her big brother when I brought her face up to gaze at mine. "I know you do too, Isaac."

It was then that I finally made my decision, out of love for Jenna, and admiration for Felix. I remembered why it had been so important to find him, to stop him, to learn the truth of things: he was my mentor, my hero, my elder brother, and I'd be damned if I let him walk out of our lives again. I cared, and still care, far too much to let that happen.

"Felix!" I had shouted, throwing the door open and giving him what I believed was my most intimidating look. It didn't seem to affect him at all, but by then I had everyone's attention, so I stepped forward and stood in front of the man. Later, Jenna would tell me that I exuded fiery passion, so much intensity that even Felix had been slightly cowed, even if he didn't show it. "I'm with you," I had said, and he'd smiled this radiant smile in response that captured my heart and refused to yield it. From then on, I knew I was irrevocably anchored to this man's cause, as his hands grasped mine and shook them vigorously, eyes brimming with new vigour.

I was tethered to Felix's side from that day; the side of my brother, my companion, and my most trusted friend.


	2. Isaac, Respect

**Memory, Sentiment, and Everything In-Between**

_Ugh. I feel like I should probably apologize - not just for the fact that my work is so short and terrible, but also for the fact that it takes so long to get out. My laptop died, so I've had to wait until now to write this up from my written shorthand and whatnot, and I've lost all my outlines and everything...__well, anyway, enough moping. I shouldn't be writing Author's Notes or anything along these lines, so let's get down to business. First of all, a big thank you to everyone who reviewed, favourited, added to alert or even took a look at the first chapter. It's always nice to feel noted in this big world of fandom and whatnot. =D_

_For more personal matters, fegs2fan, thank you for the kind words. I intend to get around to Jenna at some point, and seeing as this is the last Isaac chapter, right after Garet she'll be up to bat. Minuit Chanson17, thanks to you too, I'm glad you liked the way I approached Isaac/Jenna. It's probably my favourite Isaac pairing (mainly because it gets him out of the way! ;P)! You probably won't like this chapter much, but soon afterwards I'll get back to the...canonshipping. =D_

_Finally, and perhaps most importantly, some warnings. This chapter contains slash (nothing explicit at all, though) and a fair bit of fluff (I think. I still haven't grasped these words like fluff, crack, et cetera.) A little further clarification of concept: more character studies, really, and this means more warnings to come. I am sorry, those of you who did not expect this. And finally, if anyone is even remotely interested, I am in the market for one of them there beta-thingies as my work is not only terrible, but also un-proofread (gasp!)_

_Now, without further ado... _

Chapter 2: Isaac (Romantic)

"What's that old saying? 'Don't count your chickens before they hatch'? Seems awfully appropriate."

"I don't know if I'd agree. I prefer 'a rolling stone gathers no moss'."

"...How is that more appropriate than what I said?"

"I never said that it was. I just said I prefer it."

Isaac groaned, and he could swear the three warriors rolling around on the floor clutching at their injuries did too. Felix was being as inscrutably difficult as ever, nothing had changed on that front; expecting him to ever stop spouting faux-philosophical nonsense was like...well, expecting a rolling stone to gather moss, and the blond had to suppress a chuckle at that thought. It would have been most improper of him to laugh in front of their defeated foes, and he wasn't fond of the idea of further fostering their silly grudge, not after that ambush had driven a rare Djinni away out of fear. The green one (he couldn't remember their names, or where he'd met them, only that somewhere along the line they'd thought it would be clever to pick a fight with the Pirate King Isaac, Champion of Colosso, and that just seemed stupid) pushed himself up onto his knees and glared, not at Isaac, but at Felix, and for a moment Isaac was affronted - weren't they angry with him? - before realizing that they thought Felix was the leader, and therefore the real problem, and that worked in his favour, right? The less they beat up on him, the less he got beat up, and that could only be a good thing. He couldn't deny he was taking orders from Felix, either, at least for now.

"Azart, right?" came a voice from beside him, and Isaac turned to catch Felix with his arms akimbo and a thoughtful look on his face. "What are we going to do with you?"

"Let me go?" was the reply from the smaller warrior in the gold armour, and though Isaac couldn't see his face, he imagined the expression of terror mixed with the respect the man obviously wore, judging by his tone. How very satisfying it was.

"We know you're far too tough for us to ever hope to beat!" cried the red-armoured warrior, and Isaac dimly recalled how he'd struggled against a similar warrior in his final battle in the Colosso tournament. If he'd been as strong then as he was now, he wouldn't have needed the help of the others; was that why they were here now, and so angry at that?

"I highly doubt Isaac would have cheated against you three," Felix said, leaving no room for discussion. The point of a blade at your throat had a tendency to do that, Isaac mused, and Azart, as he remembered Felix calling him, nodded emphatically in response. "He wouldn't have needed to. He's Isaac."

"Right!" the three shouted in unison, which was a bit startling for poor Kraden. On the other hand, Isaac was silent, face bright at the high praise he had received from Felix and trying to ignore how the truth made his stomach clench.

"Felix, I-"

Poised to tap Felix on the shoulder, Isaac jumped when Ivan and Mia latched onto him and hauled him away. The others were standing off awkwardly, watching Felix scold the three abashed warriors in typical mother hen fashion, occasionally grinning when one of them would lower his head in shame or nod in embarrassed agreement. Felix seemed to be too caught up in chastising them to notice, but despite their contrite expressions the trio seemed to enjoy the attention; they sat respectfully in line, legs crossed, in front of the older Venus Adept, and appeared to take careful notice of everything he said. Isaac himself was amazed - Felix was lecturing them? And on him, no less?

"Don't say a word," Ivan warned, smoldering eyes focused on Isaac's. "It's really not worth it."

"He's right, Isaac," Mia added, jerking her thumb in their leader's direction. "Telling Felix the truth about Colosso will only end badly. It'd crush his 'heroic' image of you." Isaac tried to ignore the way Mia snorted at 'heroic'.

"And that," whispered a voice from behind them, and they immediately froze, guilt plastered across their faces, "would be less than good. Don't you agree?"

"Maybe if we don't move, he'll think we're dead and go away," Ivan forced through gritted teeth.

"I'm not a bear," the voice huffed in reply, "though I am about as terrifying as one. With all that fur and those teeth and whatnot."

"Do they have bears in Lemuria?"

"No, which is part of the reason why I am so fascinated by them," Piers said wistfully, reaching down and jabbing Ivan in the cheek with a long, bony finger. The diminutive adept visibly tightened, then relaxed, choosing to ignore Piers' unspoken slight.

"Piers, I'm begging you," Isaac cried in his most pleading tone. "Don't tell Felix any of what you just heard. Please?"

"Much as I'd enjoy deflating you in his eyes and taking your place in his heart," Piers chuckled, "I'd really need to know what was being said before I could share with dear Felix." A leer crossed the taller man's face, and Isaac cursed himself for falling into the world's most obvious trap.

"Piers!" Mia yelled, whacking the back of his head. "For such an old man," the way she emphasised the 'old' almost vitriolic, "you have very little understanding of decorum!"

"So says Madam Violence," Piers retorted, face contorted in pain as he rubbed the spot Mia had chosen to hit. Isaac noted the way Ivan tried to cover up his distinct titter with amusement. "If you refuse to share with the class, I shall have to take it up with the teacher."

"You will do no such thing," Mia murmured, tone icy enough to shut Piers up swiftly. "And I'm shocked you have schools in Lemuria."

"Alas, we do not. The only way to better oneself in my homeland is to undertake the personal pursuit of knowledge. I thank Kraden for introducing me to the rest of the world's vernacular."

"Well," Mia sighed, deciding to let Piers have his little victory, "if you behave, I might tell you later. When we're out of earshot."

"Tell Piers what? About how Isaac cheated in Colosso?" another voice chimed in, and the little huddle turned to see Felix standing behind them, holding a golden shirt in one hand and a flustered Garet in the other, who was squirming violently as he tried to tear himself out of his leader's grasp. "A little bird shared the whole story with me already, and really, Mia, saying 'out of earshot' within earshot is the first thing they should teach you not to do in school. It incites curiosity."

"I'm sorry, guys!" Garet squeaked. Isaac vaguely noticed that though Garet's eyes were filled with fear, there was a tinge of amusement in them. How he could find his situation even a little bit amusing eluded Isaac, especially with the presence of a little smirk on Felix's face that had sat itself where usually there was only a stoic frown.

"You will be," Ivan fumed, and Isaac wondered why he was so desperate to protect Felix from the truth. It was only a little thing, and it'd help build trust between them, right? Trust was good, right?

"I already know the whole story," Felix smiled, and dread crept into Isaac's mind, "and I'm very disappointed in you, Garet, for telling on your friends."

"Yeah, Isaac really-" Garet's sudden pause was practically audible. "Huh?"

Felix let go of the Mars Adept, still smiling as the redhead fell weakly to the floor, before turning and smirking at Isaac (making him wonder why Felix was suddenly so expressive).

"Help," Isaac whimpered, backing off a few paces. Felix took a step forward, Ivan and Mia looked at each other, glances were shared, and somehow, there was consensus.

"Break ranks!" They yelped in unison, before running off in the direction the Djinn had gone earlier. Mentally Isaac cursed them, at the same time hoping they'd make up for their cowardice, at least a little, and catch the damn thing for him. Then, his attention turned to Felix and the (now empty) room, and he hoped that the man would at least be merciful.

"No mercy for the damned!" Felix cackled, and Isaac started to cry.

* * *

When Isaac eventually came to, he found himself laid out on the floor of his cabin in the ship, body bruised about as much as his ego. Taking a quick look around the room (as bare and bland as ever, he glumly noted), he stood up, trying to ignore how shaky he was on his feet.

"Try sitting back down," someone laughed behind him, so he did.

"Why am I on the floor? It's not the nicest place to sleep, you know," he grumbled, stretching his arms out wide in what he hoped would lessen the aching crick in his neck.

"I didn't feel like sharing the bed with you after what I learned today," the occupant of his bed sighed, but Isaac was having none of it.

"I'm having none of it," he said, trying to get his feelings out into the open. Mia had told him one of them would have to if they wanted their 'relationship' to work, and it certainly wouldn't be his steely bastard of a lover if previous experience (with Felix and closed books equally) was any indication.

"I think a spine does look good on you, honey," the other man laughed, jumping out of the bed far more gracefully than was fair for a human, before embracing him from behind. "Maybe you should wear one more often."

"You're not funny, I hope you know," Isaac snorted, pushing Felix away. "You should let me go, too."

"Sure," the brunet said softly, relinquishing his grip on the blond, a little more reluctantly than Isaac thought was fair.

"I didn't mean it, idiot," Isaac sighed guiltily, shaking his head, before throwing himself at Felix and pinning him down. The blond gasped when Felix threw him over and held him down, tickling his sides a little to frustrate him, and after a few minutes of wrestling for dominance they collapsed out of exhaustion.

"So..." Isaac started, trailing off when he couldn't find the words.

"So?" Felix replied breathlessly, face lit up by another one of his radiant smiles. Isaac resisted the urge to pinch his cheeks and continued.

"So," and the words began to roll off his tongue, "why are you disappointed? Everything Garet told you is a lie. It must be a lie. Garet can't tell the truth, you know that, surely you don't believe him, you practically made him the way he is, you're not _that_ stupid, are you, Felix?"

"I resent your implications," Felix snickered in response, "and please, my name isn't-"

"If you make that stupid Shirley joke again, I'll kill you before Karst does," Isaac snarled.

"Fine, fine," was the reply, false exasperation smothered by that beautiful smile that so rarely showed itself. He turned his head to meet Isaac's wide eyes, smile growing even more. "Please continue, babe."

Ignoring the mocking endearment (he hated it when Felix tried so innocently to steer Isaac away from his thoughts and into righteous indignation), Isaac pressed on. "Answer the question."

"You remember their names, right? Azart, Satrage, Navampa?" The seriousness in Felix's tone threw Isaac for a moment.

"I guess. I couldn't tell which is which, but that can't be the reason, can it?"

"They told me that you used strange magic," Felix continued. Isaac wasn't sure whether to be insulted he'd been ignored or to just listen to Felix and wave it off. "That wasn't what disappointed me. It wasn't even that you had those three solve half the damn puzzles for you, because I know thinking hurts that pea-brain of yours."

Isaac hoped his glare said everything he didn't.

"It was the fact that you didn't tell me," and then Isaac saw the weariness, the age in his lover's face. He hated it, sometimes, stealing what little real innocence Felix had left. "It was embarrassing for me, finding out like this, in front of people I needed to protect you from," the sentiment leaving Isaac quarrelling with whether he should hit Felix for treating him like some damsel in distress or swoon over the fact that anyone in Weyard could still see him as such, "but damnit, Isaac, I wasn't even there and those puzzles sounded simple! Of all people, how could you need Garet's help?"

Isaac couldn't help the unabashedly relieved grin that spread across his face. "So it's not that I broke the rules, it's the principle of why I did it?"

"Yes!" The older man snapped, eyes blazing with anger and passion he barely kept in check. "I'd forgive you if you'd done it somewhere needlessly complicated, like Air's Rock, but, come on, Colosso?"

Isaac swatted away the hand that tried to grab his and pulled Felix in for a deep kiss.

"You're an idiot," he crooned as he pulled away, entwining his hands with Felix's and yanking him down onto the mattress.

"So are you," he heard Felix say in return, and he beamed.

* * *

"It's cold out today, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Isaac nodded. "Unusual, isn't it?"

"I'd say so. What's the old legend around here? It's only cold when the gods are angry?"

"I hope not," the blond grumbled. "Don't know if we can do this without the gods on our side."

"Yeah," and Isaac stuffed his hands into his pockets as Garet walked up behind him and sat himself by his old friend. "How are you feeling?"

"Besides cold?" Isaac muttered. "I don't know. Probably nothing. It's too damn cold to be feeling anything else."

"Not too cold to think, though, is it?" the other spoke, because the routine had become normal for them, even if the weather wasn't. A little variety, however strange, might finally elicit some sort of proper response from the Venus Adept.

"Never too cold to think," he joked, and then regretted it; the other sighed, hurried away, and busied himself with the newly-forming outhouse they were supposed to be building.

"Jenna doesn't like it when you mope, you know," Garet murmured, and Isaac knew he was right.

"Sorry, it's just..."

"I know what it is, Isaac," followed by a loud gulp and another thinly-veiled sigh. "Just don't let it get to you too much. Gotta get ready for the next Mourning Moon, you know."

"I know," Isaac mumbled in response. Taking one last, longing look out towards the horizon, Isaac settled himself down by Garet and tried to concentrate on the work, futile though it may have been.

He'd waited a long time to see Felix appear on the horizon, and he'd be damned if he missed it, but no one had warned him about the dull pain of abandonment, no one had told him he'd never be strong enough to get over it. He'd always wondered why his thrice-damned love was so strong, until Jenna had explained it to him one night, when they'd sought solace in each other, to relieve the pain of losing Felix.

He still believed her words fiercely, after all these years: that there was no love so great as that which is born from respect.

* * *

_There you go. Now, as well as Felix (and everyone else) not being funny, you've got me not being funny too. I hope you readers at least got a little enjoyment out of that. :D_


	3. Garet, Brotherhood

_Thanks again to all the reviewers and readers who took the time to check out the last chapter. Long update time, right? Well, I apologize, and I promise I'll start trying to improve. I don't want to set an even worse precedent. :D_

_Also, to the reviewer who mentioned the continuity issues, et cetera - let me clarify the concept a bit more, because I'm very vague and that's bad. What I meant was that these, unless explicitly stated, aren't connected - so there's no continuity, per se, just a series of oneshots that happen to be part of the same piece of work. And I apologise for the confusing nature of my writing - as you can probably tell, I'm not very good. ;P__

* * *

_Garet (Platonic)

"Run!"

"But I-"

"Stop talking and _run_, damnit!"

A sigh, before Isaac turns and runs away. You can hear his footsteps echoing in the distance, down the corridors, and once the sound of boots hitting rock finally dies down, you relax, allowing yourself to draw breath.

Gulping down as much air as you can, you climb shakily to your feet, blood pooling where you had been sat moments ago. They are weak and uncertain beneath you, and the action threatens to pull you back down to the floor, but you refuse to fall again, not when those monsters are right there around the corner, just waiting for the opportunity to bite down on you and devour your little group afterwards. You curl your hand around the vial in your pocket (just in case) and wait.

Flinching when your legs wobble a little, you take a step forward and summon all your remaining strength. Fear rises in your throat when the sound of slobbering mouths and gnashing teeth turns the corner and reaches your ears, but you are proud, you are steadfast, and you set your face in grim determination as you raise your sword for what you are sure will be your final battle. You hope your bravado will last. Maybe you won't see it through, but it doesn't matter; Isaac and Jenna are safe, and that's all you care about right now.

The beasts take their time getting to you, and the wait is soul-crushing enough, but when they do, you are prepared, even if you falter for a moment, your eyes shocked by what they see. The monsters are hideous, foul black mandibles sprouting from twisted, fleshy faces, legs wriggling wildly as they strain to carry the weight of the scarred carapaces the creatures hide within. When they roar, a sheer, fathomless noise that speaks of all the horrors of hell, you know your fate is sealed. It is almost poetic; they hunger, and you are their meal.

The Fire Brand glows in your hands, and its comforting warmth revives your flagging confidence. You steel yourself one final time, and pray that your friends are all safe, even Ivan, much as the little gnat frustrates you.

Lost in your thoughts, counting down to your imminent death, you react to slowly to block the lunging bite of the first monster, and as you pull back, out of the range of its pincers, you are thrown off balance. The second dives at you, but this time you are prepared, dropping to the floor and rolling to the side, safely out of the way. The strain alone nearly defeats you, threatening to reopen the wound in your side that Isaac had used his Psynergy to close, but one of the beasts is too busy fighting with another to pay any attention to you, forcing you to make a choice. Your decision is swift, and you rush towards it, charging back into the fray before plunging your blade through its skull. Relief floods your thoughts as you watch it dissolve into nothingness, and for a moment your strength returns (maybe you shouldn't give things up for lost just yet).

Your relief is short-lived, however, as you feel numbness begin to spread through your left leg before pain shoots through you. Glancing down to the source you recall that the monster you killed had been fighting another one, and you chastise yourself as you raise your other leg to stomp on the creature's skull. Surprisingly, it shatters easily beneath your armored boot, and you add it to your tally with some joy.

The other four are none too pleased, skirting around you and growling as their pincers snap in your direction, but you growl just as viciously in response, and though it seems stupid, they shrink back, which fills you with smugness.

Then you remember that you've seen this all before, and your face falls just as the shadow falls over you. The surviving beasts scatter, leaving you there to, presumably, die, while you curse them for not bringing you along, even as lunch.

When you turn, to look at the monster behind you, the first thing into your head is that 'shocked' doesn't quite cover your reaction. The new monster before you is tall, easily twice your height, its large head scraping the roof of the tunnel you are trapped in, and easily thrice as thick. You recall that monsters like it, from the lizardman clan, are supposed to be very meek for all their intimidating appearances, but this one is nothing like what you've encountered elsewhere. The phrase "exception to the rule" jumps to mind, which knocks the wind out of you, literally (why me, you wonder).

Its scaly green skin shifts and gleams under the dim light of the sun shining in through the cracks in the cavern walls. Its limbs are long and muscular, forearms sprouting some sort of vestigial wings, hands curved into sharp claws that glint wickedly at you; the legs are worse, nearly as thick as your torso each, tapering off towards what should have been its feet, but instead were talons, pointy and big and dangerous-looking. Its face is the worst, when you finally pluck up the courage to settle your roaming gaze on it; fiercely bright red eyes sit angrily between a flate, curved, shiny forehead and a mouth filled with rows of the sharpest teeth you've ever seen, stuck in a permanent wide grin that makes you feel more terrified than reassured. When it roars, you very nearly void your bowels. It is utterly inhuman and utterly horrifying.

It raises its hackles, perhaps in a gesture of warning (with luck, it wants you off its territory, perhaps without violence – maybe it's more afraid of you than you are of it, like spiders or bees or flowers), and you take a step back, because you're an upstanding young gentleman, and if this fine fellow would like you to remove yourself from his property, who are you to argue?

Your back bumps into something behind you, and you drop your hands to brush across it. Scales. _Fuck._

The realisation that you are prety and these are predators takes longer than you expect to come to you, but when it does, your reaction is immediate. You don't think you've ever moved as fast as you do then, throwing all your weight forward as you raise your sword and thrust it towards the hideous one in front, faster than the hideous one behind can do anything about it. It clangs harmlessly off the creature's armour-scales, leaving you weeping inside, because that's it, the game is up. You're done. Or at least, you think that way, until the monster starts jumping around like a maniac on fire.

Watching what happens next is strangely gratifying. The creature's scales sizzle a little, then they pop, before a series of explosions trails up its torso, around its body, until they arrive back where they started; the lizardman is left flaming and naked. Fire, you think, fire is good. Calling spells is useless, as you don't have the willpower left over to make any of them work, but the Brand is fire, and that's good enough, right?

You strike at the other one, but it manages to dodge, jumping back a few paces on its rippling legs before throwing a punch that is so strong it catches you off-guard right in the middle of your parry, knocking your sword clean out of your hands. It embeds itself in the wall, and you want to curse, you really do, but it probably wouldn't do you much good (offending the masters of the house further would just be childish), so you don't. You refuse to give up, but ultimately it doesn't matter, because that choice has just been made for you. Tears, anger, determination, none of it matters when you're dead, and you feel about as good as dead.

The nude lizardman has very little inclination to let you go free, you now realise, fiery eyes burning with a hate fueled by a pain you cannot comprehend and a hunger you can. The other one is just as livid, and far more intimidating, still invincible, and standing between you and your weapon, somehow grinning even more than before, as if it knows that it's over, that you've got nothing left, and even if you did you'd probably still be just as frightened and alone as you are now.

It takes a second longer than it should, but eventually you find your Djinn in your mind, and you reach out to them, power flowing through you from the tips of your hairs to the tips of your toes, a new and comforting fire burning at your fingertips. It's unfortunate, you think, that they are all Venus djinn; Earth isn't your element, even if you find yourself invigorated by it, and now you are left with what you are sure is nowhere near the level of power that you need. Judgment doesn't respond to you the way it responds to Isaac, and even if it did, why bother? Putting so many Djinn in such a vulnerable state for so long would be the end of you, even if Granite thinks you can do it, or Flower is desperate to protect you.

When you finally make the leap, the monster casually brushes you aside, the impact when you slam into the wall knocking the wind out of you. You find yourself with the back against the wall, and now you know it is over, with certainty, and the greatest irony is that you were the one who was supposed to be strongest, most likely to live, the only one with the power to deal with the traps that had threatened to consume the four of you so long ago.

You yield, if only for a moment, and the monsters raise their claws, finally ready to put an end to the games. You are pleased; nothing could be sweeter than not being trapped with no hope of rescue any longer. As the first fist swoops towards you, you thank yourself – not God, not the Wise One, not Alchemy, but your own damn self – for the fact that your friends are safe, before resigning yourself to your fate. You hope it'll be quick, even if you know it won't.

Eyes closed, you feel a slight breeze blow over you, practically through you (how is there a breeze this deep inside the cave?), only to pass seconds later. There is a short silence, time hanging still in the air, then a howl, but you haven't been cut to ribbons or eaten alive, so you crack an eye open and it's as if all your prayers have been answered.

The beast without scales is dead, bleeding heavily from several open wounds; your Fire Brand is carelessly sticking out of its skull, shattered bits of bone and brain matter decorating the walls and floor in your vision. The second is on its last legs, literally: its left leg is hanging uselessly, irreparably broken, while both its arms have been completely dismembered. It writhes around on the floor, hateful and angry, hissing, spitting, roaring at the warrior who stands tall over it, sword pointed at its throat.

When the killing blow comes, its death rattle is enough to fill you with both relief and dread. The warrior is cleaning off his sword, blood dripping from its point, with a frown of disgust plastered over his face. He turns to you, as others run to your side, allowing their healing spells to run through you and ease some of your pain; with your energy restored, for now, you stand and look the warrior in the eye, pride overtaking the fear that held you in place only seconds ago.

"Thank you," you say, though it is difficult to get the words out for more reasons than one, and the warrior's frown deepens for a moment, just long enough for you to see the worry on his face, before he breaks into a smile that relieves you as much as his assistance did earlier.

"Don't mention it," he says, "anything for family." and you know he means it, because the hand resting on your shoulder, if only shortly, is full of kindness, warmth, and meaning. It is more the hand of a brother than the hand of a hero.

He turns away, stalking down a dark passage, and you move to follow him, but Isaac stops you, shaking his head. In a flash your fear has returned, perhaps doubled knowing what lies ahead of him, but you seal it up inside, in the deepest parts of your heart, and leave with the others, though your mind wanders away from Jenna's attentions.

* * *

Later, Jenna is fawning over you, as she is wont to do. Her hands are comforting and loving as they glide over your bare skin, delicately tending to the many injuries you've suffered; healer's hands, more akin to Mia than to the Jenna you grew up with, though you can't say you don't like the feeling. Your mind is more preoccupied than that, though, mostly with the way they flit back and forth anxiously. You wonder why she is nervous.

"What's wrong?" you ask, brushing a stray lock of hair out of her face. She is still radiantly, beautiful, easily moreso than the other girls, even frazzled as she is.

"Felix hasn't come back yet," she replies, eyes clouding over. A minute passes before you hesitantly take her into your arms, soothing her as best you can. Your wounds ache, but it's worth the pain: she tenses, then relaxes, clutching at you for comfort. "I'm so afraid," she says, teary-eyed, and you sympathise, though you cannot stop the swell of hatred you feel towards your 'fearless leader', so willing to put his sister's feelings in jeopardy. That subsides a little when she adds, "I was so terrified for you, Garet, I can't lose him too..."

The sound of Felix's name, shouted by two indistinct voices (you can't make who, but you assume it's Mia and Piers; with him it's _always _those two) draws Jenna away quickly, and you rise to your feet, intending to follow, but by the time you reach the door he is already there, standing in front of Jenna at the bottom of the stairs leading to the deck, Mia and Piers waiting impatiently behind him for his attention. You notice he looks heavily wounded, and Jenna is both relieved and concerned; you can guess why. What shocks you is when he pushes past Jenna (but not harshly, he's never harsh with his sister) and limps in your direction, with an almost triumphant look on his face, holding something obviously very important.

What he drops into your unexpectant hands, and you fumble clumsily with like the oaf you sometimes think you are, is a clear red gem that burns with an inner fire. You recognize it immediately, faster than anything else you've done today: it is, after all, what you went into the cave looking for, the very thing you'd wanted to give Jenna to make her eyes brighten the same way. It is a Firestone, a glittering, precious thing your mother told you would make any female Mars Adept the happiest girl in the world, and Jenna is, even after telling you not to bother, that it wasn't important, staring at it like it's the only thing that could ever possibly exist in her eyes.

"Why did you-"

"My sister loves you," is his response, simple, strong, and _final_. It's a Felix thing to say – answer a question with a statement that's only tangentially related, but it makes sense to you, and then you feel a volcano erupt in your cheeks, knowing you've turned redder than the damn stone, because Jenna herself hasn't told you that yet, and she's the same, red, red like fire, but God, she's beautiful, and the way she smiles so shyly and yet so openly at you confirms it. "That makes you family. Family is the most important thing," Felix continues, and you get the feeling that unlike most people, he means it.

You don't know what to say, so you say nothing, but the way Jenna pulls Felix into what must be the world's most constricting, most painful hug says more than you ever could, and you do the same, awkwardly hugging the man who's done more for you today than pretty much anyone outside your blood ever has (save Isaac and Jenna, though you feel like Felix has probably been watching over you three longer than anyone else). He smiles at you both, a rare, warm smile that tells you everything you need to know, that he'll always be there to save you both like he did today, and you smile back, because that's what you feel: a smile. A full-body smile that'll take over and never leave you if you don't stop looking at the family you're getting involved with. Mia sighs dreamily behind him and Piers looks pleased, but they don't matter, because Jenna snatches the bauble from you and holds it up to the light, eyeing it with a grin you can't believe any human could ever have, eyes sparkling with unabashed joy before she pulls you aside for the most passionate kiss you've ever shared. It's clearly enough for Felix, who politely averts his eyes until you're both finished, no longer smiling but still radiating contentment, then nods serenely at you before turning around and hobbling up the stairs, closely attended by two overly-touchy, obsessive Mercury Adepts.

You wonder inwardly if Felix intended to have you indebted to him for the rest of your mortal life as Jenna drags you in the direction of your room, then you thank him for the best gift you've ever been given to give to someone else. After all, you never thought you'd have an elder brother (you also wonder if you should apologise to Kay for thinking that).

Much, much later, Jenna ponders setting Felix and Kay up together, and you only think about it for a moment before you dismiss it; having your two overbearing siblings get married, on second thought, is a _terrible _idea.


End file.
